Deja Vu
by shouldsleep
Summary: It’s September in Berkeley, California. Ryan encounters someone from his past who will turn his freshman year upside down.
1. Chapter 1

Déjà vu Part 1

**Déjà vu Part 1**

**Rated: T**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the O.C. characters or actors. This is a work of fiction and not meant to infringe on any copyrights****.**

**Summary: It's September in Berkeley, California. Ryan encounters someone from his past who will turn his freshman year upside down.  
Unbetaed: (Because I don't have one.)**

I looked at the student card I'd been issued earlier that day. One lady had taken the picture while another had been asking me to confirm the spelling of my last name. The resulting picture was less than flattering- I look cross eyed and my mouth is open.

I'd get a retake if it wouldn't be a hassle, but I'll just be flashing this card when I go to the gym so it's not really worth it.

I scanned a flyer about pickup soccer games at the Y and tore off one of the little numbers at the bottom. I bought a cup of coffee at the canteen and headed back to my dorm.

I was just killing time.

My roommate still hadn't arrived and I'd been driving myself crazy sitting alone in my dorm wondering when he was going to show.

I'm hoping my roommate will be an easygoing guy and sharing a room with him won't be a big deal. Sandy had regaled me with tales of the hijinks he used to get up to with his college roommate Rob, and I'm kind of excited to meet someone new.

I'm not looking for a replacement Seth, but I figure it will be a plus to like the guy if I'm going to be living with him for the next year.

After having the pool house to myself for so long it will be weird to share a space again- even at the Cohens' new place in Berkeley I've got my own room, but I'm not too worried.

I shared a room with Trey when we were kids. I'm pretty sure my roommate won't resort to Indian burns to get his feelings across, and even if he does I'm sure I can take him.

I could only stall for so long, and eventually I found myself back in my dormitory half reading the biography of Frank Lloyd Wright (a 'going away' present from Kirsten). It was almost four o'clock when I decided to go check out the gym to kill some time and some energy.

The lady at the front desk spent a long time scrutinising the picture on my student card- even holding it out at arms length close to my face in some sort of comparison. I guess I should be happy that she didn't think it looked like me.

…

I met some people as I was leaving the gym- two guys and a girl. They're first year architecture students too and we hit it off immediately.

I hadn't been planning on much of a social life this year, what with Seth being on the opposite coast and Taylor in Paris.

I still kept in touch with Luke by email, and would obviously be seeing a lot of the Cohens, but apart from that I had counted on being a bit of a loner.

Still, it would be good to know some people in my classes and not have to eat alone in the cafeteria.

We ended up in the girl, Alana's dorm watching some obscure foreign film that Taylor would have liked. It was after eleven when I said goodnight and headed back to Bowles Hall.

There were bags inside the doorway that I stumbled over when I entered, and the other bed was definitely occupied.

My roommate had clearly arrived while I was out. I didn't wake him up- any introductions could wait until the morning.

…

The other bed was empty when I woke up and I wondered if my roommate had come at all, or if last night had just been a dream.

Rubbing my eyes, I turned on the bedside lamp- the other bed was made, but there were open bags on top of it. My roommate must have gotten bored unpacking and gone out for a coffee I decided.

I showered and brushed my teeth, wondering exactly how many guys I would be sharing the communal bathroom with, and how often it was cleaned. I didn't have much growing up, but my mom had always kept the bathroom relatively clean, and I found the familiar smell of bleach comforting. Seth would have smirked at the irony of living in a sterile ashtray.

It was just after eight, and my first class didn't start until ten so I decided to go for a walk and get a coffee. I grabbed my bag by the shoulder strap, swinging it clumsily off of the desk- knocking a framed picture off of the other nightstand.

I cringed when I heard the glass shatter- this was not good. Now I would have to preface the introduction with 'by the way, I already broke something of yours'.

Not a great way to make a first impression.

I cleaned up the mess, wrapping the bigger shards of glass in newspaper and vacuuming up the rest. Kirsten had had the foresight to buy me a small Dirt Devil, something I wouldn't have thought of. She likes to be clean too, even if she usually hired someone.

I picked up the frame to put it back on his night table. I looked at the picture, expecting to see either a girl, or a Norman Rockwellish family shot.

It was a girl.

A girl I recognized.

A girl I once had loved, but whose memory I had laid to rest.

It was Marissa.

…

I couldn't concentrate in my first class, Fundamentals of Architectural Design. I didn't even remember leaving my dorm and finding the lecture hall, but I must have done it since I was sitting in an aisle seat, beside Alana.

Mike and Adam, the guys I'd met yesterday, were talking animatedly, but I wasn't paying attention to the conversation.

Alana nudged me in the ribs.

"Are you okay? You're really pale."

"Huh?" Her words had barely registered but the nudge had brought me back to earth.

"Are you okay? You look like you're a million miles away."

"Oh. I'm fine. I was just wondering if my roommate is back at Bowles Hall; I haven't met him yet."

"He didn't come yesterday? That's cutting it close."

"He came later in the day, when I was at your place. He was asleep when I got back, I figured we'd talk in the morning but he was gone when I got up."

"That's weird. I would have woken him up last night, gotten to know him."

I laughed in spite of myself.

"It's different for girls."

She laughed, shrugging her shoulders, and I thought about telling her about the picture.

But what would I say exactly?

My mystery roommate keeps a picture of my dead ex girlfriend by his bed?

I didn't want to talk about Marissa and the accident, and I couldn't really omit those details without the story losing its relevance, so I decided to stay silent.

The professor came in a few minutes later, a tall, thin man with curly grey hair- Seth in forty years. He started talking, but his words were just background noise to the thoughts that were racing through my head.

How did this guy know Marissa?

I knew she was probably friends with lots of people I didn't know, after all, I hadn't met her until I was fifteen, and she presumably had a life before then… but how many guys knew her well enough to keep a picture of her by their bed? It was a school picture, probably taken in eighth or ninth grade.

I had known her then.

…

The rest of my classes passed by in a haze of syllabuses and introductions. My mind was buzzing trying to answer questions that only my roommate could answer.

I declined an invitation from Mike to attend a playstation tournament in favour of returning to my room. I wasn't going to keep missing this guy- we would meet and I would get some answers, and put my mind at ease.

There was an envelope with the UC Berkeley logo, addressed to Owen Taft lying on the other desk when I got back. I had gotten one too, welcoming me to the school and hinting that I should pursue extracurricular activities on campus (for a fee of course).

Owen Taft, man of mystery.

I planted myself in the desk chair and cracked open one of my new textbooks. Even after living with the Cohens, I had still felt guilty spending so much money at a bookstore.

I read the first chapter and made some notes, my eyes wandering to the clock between paragraphs. This guy had to come back eventually- and when he did I'd be waiting.

…

I was getting hungry, but I hadn't moved from my post. This was getting ridiculous- I needed some answers. Now.

He came back a little after six.

He was thinner now, and his hair had been dyed blond, but I would have recognized that face anywhere.

Although I hadn't thought about him in years, his brief appearance in my life had not been forgotten- filed away in a box I never planned on opening again maybe, but not forgotten.

How could I forget Oliver Trask?

…

I was in freefall.

I had stepped off the high dive and was waiting for the splash.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Rated: T**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the O.C. characters or actors. This is a work of fiction and not meant to infringe on any copyrights****.**

**Summary: It's September in Berkeley, California. Ryan encounters someone from his past that will turn his freshman year upside down.  
Unbetaed: (Because I don't have one.)**

**A/N: I don't know how accurate the time line is between when Oliver was institutionalised and released. I went with three years, but I could be (and probably am) wrong, so my apologies and if anyone wants to figure it out I'd be happy to change it.**

"What are you doing here, Oliver?"

I managed to keep my voice even and to look him in the eye, ignoring my instinct to beat his face to a bloody pulp.

I was older and wiser this time around and I wouldn't play into his hands, I wouldn't give him that edge.

"I go by Owen now, Ryan. For all intents and purposes, Oliver Trask died at the Four Seasons."

"What do you want?" My jaw was clenched tightly, but I kept my fists at my sides.

"I was taken to a hospital in Monterey. It looked more like another Four Seasons than a loony bin, but I was being watched every minute of every day. I went along with it. Every day I woke up with a smile plastered on my face and did everything those idiots asked of me. I was released three years later- a walking pharmacy, but I was free."

"What do you want?" I repeated.

I didn't really care what had happened to Oliver after he was taken away; I just wanted to know why he was back in my life- my room, more specifically.

"I'm getting to that. I burned all of my belongings- Oliver's belongings, that is- except for the photograph that had kept me going for the past three years. I made some phone calls, money changed hands and Oliver slowly faded away… then I hired a private investigator to find Marissa Cooper."

"What do you want?" I asked a bit louder.

I was getting impatient now, and my mouth had become very dry- too dry to swallow the lump that was beginning to form in my throat.

"He found out that she had been killed- in an accident, riding in a car that _you_ had been driving."

"That's right, Oliver. She died- in an _accident_. It's over. Done with. Coming to Berkeley, finding me… it won't bring her back."

I couldn't be truly angry at Oliver. He was just a sad, troubled guy, with no one to lean on.

I felt sorry for him, if anything- but that didn't mean I wanted him around.

It dawned on me that although the grief and guilt surrounding the accident was still there, it was muted somehow. It was just a reproduction of the original- the colours less vibrant, and the brush strokes were absent.

I don't know if I time heals all, but it certainly helps. The redness and swelling goes away, leaving just a scar and a memory.

"I know."

His voice was calm and even, which made me a bit uneasy. Unstable Oliver was unpredictable, but familiar. Who _was_ this guy?

"Then why did you come here, Oliver?"

I refused to call him 'Owen'. I wouldn't validate his lie.

…

Unstable psychopath or not, he'd really done his homework. From transcripts to criminal record, Oliver Trask had all but disappeared.

I wanted to call Sandy, I needed to call him- but I couldn't.

One call to the Cohens, the Dean's office, or the police and something bad would happen. I didn't know exactly what the 'bad' thing would be, but based on Oliver's twisted smile, I knew I didn't want to find out.

If anything happened to him, something even worse would happen to the Cohens, or to Taylor (apparently Oliver had a French hit man on speed dial).

I was to behave as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. I was to go to classes, turn in my assignments and keep in touch with my family. I was to give no indication that my dead ex girlfriend's mentally unstable stalker was my new roomie.

In a fight you just react (and I have pretty fast reflexes), but Oliver was waging a war of attrition and my reserves were getting low. I was constantly on edge, and being as I was required to spend every night sleeping in the dorm with Oliver, I wasn't getting many z's.

It was difficult to eat; when you're in fight or flight mode, your appetite kind of takes a back seat. I choked down the cafeteria 'food' when I could, but my jeans were definitely sitting lower on my hips.

I had a secret and it was swallowing me whole.

Seth would call from Providence, and Taylor from Paris, both sounding glad to hear my voice as I gave them the abridged version of "Ryan Goes to College". They were both doing well, missing me and looking forward to Christmukkah, but happy.

Sunday dinners with the Cohens were especially painful. Looking at Sandy and Kirsten and telling them everything was going great, my face smiling convincingly to support the lie.

Everything felt like a lie, now.

…

At the end of October, Mike and Adam told me there was going to be a huge dorm party on their floor (the one above mine) for Halloween. I figured this would be pretty similar to the parties thrown every weekend, only some of the people might be in costume.

I wanted to pass, but I said I would think about it.

I wasn't that into the party scene- even if Oliver hadn't shown up, I don't think I would have gone. I had gone through my beer drinking and carousing phase years ago and I didn't want to do my Monday morning lab with a hangover.

That night, Oliver showed up clutching a flyer for the Halloween party.

He wanted to go. He wanted us both to go.

Up until then I'd managed to keep Oliver separate from my new friends. He wasn't in the architecture program, and even if he went to the gym I never saw him there. Spending hours studying in the library together, and going for coffee before class had brought me closer to Mike, Adam and Alana.

Adam was the Halo champion of Bowles Hall, but it was fun playing him, and every once in a while he'd let me win a game. I missed videogames without Seth around, and escaping to a virtual world was exactly what I needed sometimes.

Mike was a jock.

Not in the Harbour sense of the word, but if I had to fit him with a label that would be it. The two of us played on the same intramural soccer team, and he was always up for a one on one game of basketball. He was less than an inch taller than me, and we were pretty evenly matched.

It was nice to leave any thoughts of Oliver on the sidelines and just run and shoot and score.

After I'd destroyed a fictional parasite with Adam and gotten an endorphin rush with Mike, it was nice to kick back and relax with Alana.

Alana was different than most of the girls I had known growing up, but in a good way. She was smart and witty and genuinely kind. She exuded a quiet confidence that reminded me a bit of Anna Stern if I had to make a comparison.

Up until then I'd always had an excuse prepared in case one of my friends wanted to come into my room, and during the day I kept as far away from Residence as possible.

…

On the evening of the thirty-first of October I was invited to the Cohens' house for dinner. I knew Kirsten really wanted me to see Sophie in her costume, and the party wouldn't start until around eight anyway, so I agreed to come.

Sandy picked me up around five and we made the short journey by car to the 'Berkeley house'; even though the Cohens no longer owned other property (in Newport Beach or anywhere else), the name had stuck, and I figured Sophie would call it that one day too.

"Hi Ryan, it's so good to see you," Kirsten said, beaming as we came in the door.

She was holding the tiniest Cohen, clad in a tiny yellow and black striped sleeper. Sophie got a bit bigger every time I turned my head- at least it seemed that way. I saw her almost every week, but I could see her becoming more and more of a 'little person' as time went by. Seth wouldn't even recognize her come Christmukkah.

"She's a bumblebee! See, there are little wings on the back," Kirsten added, turning her daughter to show the back of the costume.

I grinned at Sophie, who smiled back in the relaxed, tolerant way Theresa's cat used to when her cousins pushed it around in a baby carriage.

Dinner was good, and for once I was hungry. They had ordered Thai food- takeout from my new favourite restaurant.

"You look thinner, Ryan. Are you getting enough to eat at school?" Kirsten wanted to know.

"Yeah, but I'm playing soccer again, and I'm really busy with classes," I said, my fingers crossed under the table- which I know is childish and doesn't absolve the lie, but I've been doing it since I was a kid and it's kind of a habit now.

I would totally have failed a polygraph, but Kirsten seemed to believe me. Sandy gave me a sideways glance of the variety I am known to give, but (like me) he didn't say anything.

We finished the meal in silence, but it was a comfortable silence, which was weird since hardly anything had felt comfortable lately.

I did the dishes (all three plates) and then took some pictures of Sophie in her costume to send to Seth. This turned into Kirsten taking pictures of me and Sophie with her camera, individually and then together, then of Sandy with the two of us. Next Sandy took pictures of us with Kirsten, before setting the timer and placing the camera on the bookshelf behind him before coming to stand with us for a final shot.

I discretely checked my watch, and I don't know if it was because he saw me, but Sandy offered to give me a ride back to campus soon after.

We drove slowly down the street, mindful of the little witches and skeletons roaming the neighbourhood with outstretched pillowcases.

"I remember Seth's first Halloween in Newport- he was a ninja. I was looking over his candy at the end of the night and found a wallet in the bag. I returned it across the street the next day- apparently Mrs. Barker-Platt had thought it was a hold up."

I snorted, imagining our slightly senile former neighbour opening her door to a pint sized ninja.

"I remember trick or treating in Fresno. Trey was supposed to take me around the neighbourhood, but as soon as we were out of sight of our house he started lighting firecrackers. We met up with a group of his friends and toilet papered houses, cracked eggs in people's mailboxes. The next day at school I couldn't figure out why everyone else had so much candy."

Sandy laughed, and turned into the parking lot where he had dropped me off. I expected him to drive away after I'd jumped out, but he turned off the engine and unbuckled his seatbelt, indicating that I should do the same.

"It's a nice night, want to go for a bit of a walk?"

"Uh, yeah okay," I answered, slightly suspiciously. But I figured the party wouldn't start for at least another half hour, and with Taylor in Paris, Sandy Cohen was my next choice for a moonlight walk.

"So, kid… how are things? I know we talked at dinner, but I wanted to ask again- how are you doing?"

"I haven't gotten all of my midterms back, but the ones I have I did okay, I got a 92 in-"

"I'm sure you're doing well academically, and I'm proud of you, I really am, but I wanted to know how _you_ were doing. How are you adjusting?"

I wanted to tell him right then and there; I wanted this nightmare to be over.

I shrugged my shoulders indifferently.

"I'm okay. I have a few friends in the program to grab coffee with and hang out. I'm playing intramural soccer, which is fun and it's a nice break from studying."

"That's good, kid. Kirsten and I want you to get a good education, but we want you to have fun too. The college years were some of the best times of my life, and I hope they are for you too Ryan."

"Uh, yeah."

If this was the time of my life, I shuddered to think what horrors awaited me after I had my degree.

"You're sure everything is really okay? Nothing is bothering you?"

We had done a circle around the Residence and were coming back to the car. I stole a glance at Sandy- at his face. His eyes were kind and he looked concerned.

I shook my head, fingers crossed inside the pocket of my jacket, and gave him a final wave as he got back in the car. I stood there in the parking lot until his headlights had faded from view.

TBC

**Thanks for reading! Feedback is appreciated as always****J**


	3. Chapter 3

**Rated: T**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the O.C. characters or actors. This is a work of fiction and not meant to infringe on any copyrights****.**

**Summary: It's September in Berkeley, California. Ryan encounters someone from his past that will turn his freshman year upside down.  
Unbetaed: (Because I don't have one.)**

"Did you tell him?"

Kirsten was waiting for her husband when he came in the front door, stepping around the group of kids clustered on their doorstep. Sandy reached into the bowl on the stairs and dropped a treat into each child's bag, sending them on their way before turning to look at his wife.

"I wanted to, but seeing his face when he talked about his classes and his friends… I couldn't do it."

"Sandy!"

"He made no mention of Oliver, and I didn't bring it up. Pete said the kid seems to have reformed, and it's a big campus. He and Ryan might not even run into one another. He was a minor at the time, so technically his juvenile record is sealed. He's even changed his name, and his parents are very influential… I'm guessing some money changed hands, but any evidence of a troubled past has disappeared."

"Do you really think they can both be at Berkeley for four years and never see each other? I don't trust that kid! Last time, when we didn't believe Ryan… look what happened."

"At this point, telling him will only upset him. He's doing so well, Kirsten. He's finally getting on with his life. I'm going to keep a close eye on him, but unless something changes, I won't interfere."

There was a finality in his voice that stopped her from arguing. She knew her husband was making a mistake, but she also knew that Pete had stuck his neck out to give them this sensitive information- information that according to police records, no longer existed.

With no solid evidence of wrongdoing- of even an encounter with Ryan, she knew there was nothing they could do.

"I hope you're right."

…

I reluctantly entered Bowles Hall, the familiar feeling of foreboding had returned with a vengeance.

The halls were already packed with people swilling from beer bottles as they moved in time with the pounding bass that shook the walls. I pushed past a skinny guy being ravaged by Wonder Woman, and found myself missing Seth more than ever.

I had finally reached my room when the door flew open and a hand pulled me inside.

"You're late. I thought you weren't going to show. I was just about to make a phone call," Oliver said, showing me the number he had been about to dial; it was prefaced by the country code I had to enter when I called Taylor.

My palms were sweating and I began to wish I hadn't eaten so much at the Cohens'.

…

I stood with Alana and Adam in a quieter corner of the floor's common area. Ever the sportsman, Mike was involved in a spirited game of beer pong in the next room.

My friends were in the mellow, happy stage of drinking halfway between sobriety and inebriation. I wished I was there too. I had been nursing a single beer all night, unable to fend off all the drink offers with an empty hand; some people become very charitable after a few rounds.

I needed my wits about me tonight.

Oliver was drinking and doing god knew what else, and I needed to act quickly. I excused myself to go to the bathroom, weaving through the tangled mass of bodies that filled the hall. I searched through six rooms before I found him- on a beanbag chair making out with a girl from my computer science class.

My hands formed themselves into fists at my sides, but I kept my cool. I couldn't afford to do something stupid. If Oliver's henchmen didn't hear from him again, they might be under orders to hurt Taylor or the Cohens in retaliation.

Oliver was groaning in a sickening way that wasn't helping the Thai food to settle; his eyes were closed in a chemically induced ecstasy he didn't deserve. I quickly slipped my hand into his pocket, deftly removing the cell phone, and disappearing before he knew I was there.

I was headed for the bathroom when someone grabbed my arm. I jumped a bit, but relaxed when I saw it was only Alana half supporting a barely conscious Mike.

"Ryan, can you take him with you? He's really heavy and someone just set up their PlayStation, so Adam's out of service. I think he uh… should probably be in the bathroom anyway."

Mike's face had a greenish tinge, and I knew Alana was probably right. I nodded and dragged him with me into the men's room.

I pushed him into a stall, and went to stand at the end of a row of sinks while I fished the offending cell phone from my pocket. I scrolled the list of contacts, relieved there were only six.

Not surprisingly Oliver didn't seem to have a lot of friends.

The first contact said 'parents'.

Not 'mom and dad', not 'home', just the formal 'parents'; maybe it was only in there so the hospital had someone to notify. I called it anyway, but hung up when I reached the voicemail of Claire and Harvey Trask.

I called 'Jean-Francois Dubois' at the French number I'd seen earlier. My heart started pumping faster, and I knew I was setting into motion a series of events that I couldn't undo.

A man picked up on the first ring, as if he'd been waiting for my call.

"Good evening Mr. Taft."

"Hello Mr. Dubois," I answered, trying unsuccessfully to mimic Oliver's whiny, irritating voice.

"Who is this?" The man demanded immediately.

"You tell me your connection with Oliver, and maybe I'll tell you."

"Oliver?"

"Owen, to you."

"He's a client of mine."

"Oh, so you do his taxes? Cut his lawn? Or maybe you just make people he doesn't like disappear."

The line went dead, and all I could hear was the sound of retching from the stalls.

The next number 'Leah' probably wasn't a hired assassin, but I had to cover all the bases.

Leah answered on the fifth ring.

"I've told you to stop calling me, Owen. Whatever you think we had… it's over. I'm changing my number."

Apparently Oliver wasn't monogamous in his obsessions.

She hung up and I did the same.

I mentally crossed Leah off my list and went on to the next number.

…

The next morning Oliver was still asleep when I left the dorm.

I hadn't stayed very long at the party the night before. After helping Mike stagger back to his room, I'd slipped the phone back in Oliver's pocket and gone back to my own room, haunted by what my calls had confirmed. Oliver's threats against Taylor and the Cohens were real, and I didn't know what to do next.

The noise from the floor above had made it impossible to sleep and I'd ended up on my laptop reading email.

I had received a message from Luke Ward. He wanted to know what I was up to and why he hadn't heard from me in a while.

_Luke. _

He'd been my ally in the past, back when no one else had believed me, not even Seth.

…

Just after ten, my phone started vibrating. The lecture had just ended, and I was following Adam out the side door when I answered it.

It was Kirsten.

I was slightly disappointed at first- I'd been hoping for a swifter response from Luke, but my disappointment quickly turned to worry. It was unlike her to call me during the day; usually I didn't hear from her until early evening.

"Kirsten?"

TBC

**Thanks for reading! All comments and feedback are greatly appreciated****J**


	4. Chapter 4

"Hello Ryan," she responded cheerfully.

I gave an inward sigh of relief; I'd half expected to hear Oliver's voice on the other end making demands. I guess that didn't say much for my mental state at the moment.

"How are you? Is everything alright?" I asked, still a bit apprehensive.

"I was going to ask you the same thing. You seemed a bit… _off _at dinner last night. Are you sure everything's okay? You looked so tired… maybe your iron is low. I can make you an appointment-"

"I'm fine really, Kirsten. I've just been having some late nights- lots of studying to do, you know?"

"I do know, Ryan, and I'm glad you're working hard; just don't burn yourself out okay?"

I could hear wailing in the background; Sophie was awake and she was hungry.

"Okay. I'd better let you go, I'll call later Kirsten."

Although I couldn't be entirely honest with her, it was nice to have someone who cared enough to call. It wasn't her responsibility to care anymore, but she still worried about the little things (like my iron levels) and that meant a lot- even if it felt weird.

…

My next class was with Alana. I was tired and didn't feel well, although I'd only had a single beer the night before. My hand would move to take down the occasional note, but my mind was on other things.

Ten minutes before the lecture ended my phone started to vibrate. I grabbed my bag and snuck out of the building, shaking my head when Alana shot me a questioning look.

It was Luke.

"Hey man, what's up? I haven't talked to you in ages."

"Oh, hi Luke. Yeah, sorry I never emailed you back, I meant to and then…"

"Don't worry about it; I know how it is with school and everything. So, how've you been?"

And then I told him. I didn't mince words, or try and downplay the severity of the situation, I just gave him the rundown of what had been going on. I said everything I'd wanted to say for the last two months.

"Wow," Luke said when I had finished, "That's the most I've ever heard you say at one time."

"And…?"

"And we're going to kick his ass. I don't know why you haven't already; he's a manipulative little fucker and he's found your weakness."

"My weakness?" I echoed dumbly.

"Your family, Taylor…"

"I know, but even if I take out Oliver, I can't guarantee they'll be safe. I called all the numbers in his cell phone, and his threats are legit. There's a guy in France stalking Taylor and another guy watching the Cohens. I'm not afraid to gamble, but the stakes are too high, Luke."

"Where does someone even find a hit man? Did Oliver just call up Dial-a-Thug or something?"

"When you hang out in certain circles, you make connections. Drugs, thugs…"

"Oh. What does he even want from you? He's pissed that Marissa's dead- I get that… but applying to Berkeley, pulling strings to get you as his roommate… he went to a lot of trouble. It doesn't make sense."

"It's Oliver, Luke- the guy who tried to hit us with a golf cart? It doesn't have to make sense."

"I'm coming down. I've got a lot of frequent flyer miles from visiting my mom."

"You don't have to do that. You'll miss classes… and I need to handle this on my own."

"My roommate isn't a psychopath- and he takes good notes. Dude, you've had two months to make a move and you haven't. Oliver has some weird grip on you; it's like Stockholm syndrome or something."

I opened my mouth to reply, but he continued, "I'll be on the next flight."

…

I went to my other classes. I didn't want to, and the last thing I could focus on was scale drawings, but I didn't have an excuse to skip and falling behind wasn't an option. It wouldn't matter if Luke and I somehow annihilated Oliver if I flunked out of school.

I studied in the library for a few hours before dinner, reading passages that didn't permeate my consciousness and lightly jotting notes in the margins, always in pencil so I could erase them at the end of the semester and sell the textbook.

Even if you come into money later in life, the psychology of poverty never leaves you; that's why grandparents save the wrapping paper at Christmas and I can't stomach paying more than five dollars for a pair of socks.

After dinner I reluctantly went back to Residence; I was tired and looking forward to lying in my bed, even if I had to sleep with one eye open.

Opening the door to my room, I was surprised at all the people inside; I'd expected Oliver, maybe, although he usually got back later.

Kirsten was sitting on the bed, an economy size bag of raisins in her lap, Luke was there too- standing over a guy tied to my computer chair, a gag covering his mouth to muffle any screaming.

Oliver.


	5. Chapter 5

"What are you guys doing here?"

The question seemed pathetically inadequate, but I was too tired to think of anything else.

Luke jerked a thumb in Oliver's direction and Kirsten picked up the bag of raisins.

"I came to give you these, Ryan. They're high in iron- I thought maybe you could snack on them while you're studying."

That made sense. Kirsten had become more interested in nutrition since Sophie's birth, making fresh orange juice when Sandy had a cold and quietly switching the family to whole wheat bagels.

"I know I should have waited for you man, but I got here and this fucker was shaking her hand and guiding her into your dorm. I had to do something."

I nodded, and feeling a bit spaced out sat down on the bed.

"Have you-?" I held up my phone.

"Oh. Yeah Ryan, of course. I should probably go outside and wait for the cops." Luke said, reluctantly handing me his pocket knife as he left Oliver's side.

With Luke gone from the room Kirsten put an arm around me in a half-embrace, the bag of raisins crinkling between us. I put the knife on the bedside table, and relaxed a little as I returned the hug.

Oliver made a grunting, whimpering sound and rocked the chair so violently it toppled over. He hit his head on the edge of the desk as he fell- his eyes rolled back in his head as his body convulsed against the ropes that bound him.

In retrospect, I should have known better- but in retrospect, you _always _know better.

I untied him; at first I just removed the gag, but the seizing continued and Kirsten got out her phone.

"I'm calling an ambulance. I'm going down to let Luke know."

She left hurriedly, pausing for a fraction of a second by the door, looking from me to Oliver and back again, a worried frown on her face.

"Just go, I've got it!" I reassured her, and she turned the knob and vanished into the hall.

The ropes were tight around his wrist and ankles, and friction from the violent spasm was causing them to bleed. Without thinking, I cut the bindings. I figured the paramedics would have to do it, and it would slow them down. I hate Oliver and all the grief and turmoil he has caused past and present, but I didn't want him to die. Death is so final.

The seizing stopped, and he lay motionless on the ground. I reached out to check for a pulse and before I could ascertain if he was alive, Oliver attacked the end of my finger piranha-style.

In one fluid motion, he came up swinging; his fist colliding with my nose and his foot with my groin. My vision greyed from the unexpected assault, and suddenly the knife was no longer in my hand.

I heard it hit the floor with a dull thud, and our eyes met for an instant before we both lunged for it. Oliver was closer, but he tripped over the bag of raisins as he moved toward it, giving me a split second advantage.

"Do it," he whispered; his voice was disturbingly calm and even- more like a librarian than a psychopathic maniac.

"Get on the floor, Oliver," I said warningly.

The door opened, and suddenly the room was filled with people. The paramedics entered, closely followed by two police officers, Kirsten and Luke.

One of the officer's read Oliver his rights while his partner slapped the cuffs on him.

Someone guided me over to sit on the bed, and Kirsten called out to the paramedics. I guess my finger was bleeding pretty badly. I figured my nose was probably broken too, but the pain was oddly subdued.

The lady paramedic started asking me questions, which thankfully Kirsten was able to answer, because at some point I fell asleep.

**Fin** (But not really, since I've promised an epilogue.)


	6. Epilogue

I wake up in an ambulance; red and white lights flashing, sirens wailing, I try to get up but Kirsten puts a hand on my shoulder.

"They're taking you to the hospital, Ryan. Just rest for now, I'll look after everything."

It takes a moment for her words to register, but when they do my body feels lighter and I allow her to take over.

…

I wake up again.

This time, my finger is heavily bandaged and there's an IV in my hand; I follow the tubes up to look at the various bags that are hanging from a pole.

"It's okay, kid," Sandy says softly. He's sitting in a chair by the window, watching me.

I open my mouth to say something, but all that comes out is a little groan. He seems to understand, and launches into the legal side of things. My mind isn't really processing much at this point, but the gist seems to be that the Cohens and Taylor are safe, and I won't be seeing Oliver again- ever.

And that's all that really matters.

…

I spend the night at the Berkeley house with the Cohens.

I'm exhausted and want nothing more than to sleep, but my mind keeps replaying the events of the past two months; it's stuttering- skipping through the memories like a scratched CD.

_Broken glass..._

_The bad picture on my student card…_

_Adam's cheers at reaching a new level in Halo…_

_Oliver talking on his cell phone…_

_Sophie in her bumblebee costume..._

_Running laps around the track with Mike…_

_A multiple choice test; the bubbles coloured in hard with pencil…_

_The bloody stump where my finger used to be…_

_Sirens…_

Sandy knocks softly before entering, carrying a tray which he sets down on the bedside table before sitting down next to me.

He opens a bottle and shakes two blue pills into his palm, handing them to me along with a glass of water.

"Take the night off kid."

I swallow the pills and close my eyes, but the mattress remains still.

Sandy hasn't moved; he isn't taking the night off.

…

I finish the semester.

Most of my things are still in the dorm; it seemed silly to move out, especially since I'm now getting a double room for the price of a single. Sometimes I study at the desk when I'm not at the library, but every evening I make my way back to the Cohens' place.

I can't seem to fall asleep in that room.

Seth claimed the bedroom next to the family room as his own before the deal was even closed on the house, explaining that the room would house him when he came back to visit, and could remain a shrine to him in his absence.

I hadn't picked a room, thinking I'd be living on campus for the year, but Kirsten had still decorated the room across from Sophie's, choosing soft, blue sheets and a quilt for the bed. The furniture is tasteful and understated, but I can tell it's expensive.

It's not as grand as the pool house, but somehow the arrangement feels more permanent.

Small wooden letters spell out my name on the door; the plaque is kind of juvenile, but I appreciate the gesture because it shows that they wanted me to come 'home'.

It's nice to be home.

…

Sandy and Kirsten are concerned.

They haven't fully reverted back to their state of post-car-accident parental overdrive; their concern is tempered with relief, and this time I'm around to experience it.

She does my laundry, although I beg her not to. My clothes come back smelling like lemons, and often have protein bars in the pockets; I guess I've lost some weight.

Kirsten starts meeting me for coffee during the break between my afternoon classes, although we see each other more than we used to now that I'm sleeping at the house. I feel guilty for causing her concern. I tell her that I'm okay, and that I know she's busy with the baby, and that she doesn't have to come everyday.

She says she doesn't only come for me, she comes for herself too.

She keeps coming, and we keep smiling and talking, and the guilt is swept away by the tides of coffee we consume.

…

Sophie loves birds.

At first she just looked up at them soaring overhead with a puzzled look on her face, as if trying to understand the mechanics of flight. As she grew older and her eyes began to focus better, she'd watch them sitting in the tree outside her window, smiling and pointing, captivated by the little creatures.

Sophie's room was a menagerie of stuffed animals, and she already owned every educational DVD known to man, so buying her gifts was difficult. And besides that, a gift from her brother on her first Christmukkah had to be special.

I sketched the plans to resemble the Cohens' place in Orange County, but with the pool house grafted to the family room. Sophie hadn't been there since it was destroyed before her birth, but I wanted her to know where everything had begun.

It wasn't a bird house- it was a bird _mansion_, so when Sandy offered to help I was a bit sceptical. Sandy is smart and kind, and he always tries to do the right thing (even in grey areas), but he is not handy.

I have personally seen this man try to put up a shelf in the kitchen for Kirsten to display her ridiculously expensive collection of crystal salt and pepper shakers, and the result was not pretty. He'd put a 'test' pair of shakers on the shelf, and had acted surprised when they slid off of the slanted surface and smashed on the hardwood. The rest of Kirsten's collection remains bubble wrapped in storage.

In the end Sandy _is _handy, or at least he hands me stuff. He's arranges the tools like surgical instruments, and passes them to me silently as if afraid to interrupt the immense concentration required to hammer in a nail.

Kirsten is impressed, and offers to paint it for me. In the end, Sophie loves our collaboration, and is delighted by the number and variety of birds that flock to the feeder.

Seth sends a stuffed pig.

…

Sophie's first New Year's Eve is in New York City.

She's too little to understand the significance of the holiday, but the excitement is palpable, and she is mesmerised by all the tiny lights.

The whole gang gathers in the Cohen's suite at the Four Seasons, drinking champagne and proposing ridiculous toasts until the clock nears twelve and we all crowd onto the balcony to watch the ball drop.

I gently tip Taylor back as I kiss her; she reciprocates eagerly, and I hope that the saying is true and this is how we'll spend the next year, and every year after that.

End

**A/N: This is the final part to Déjà vu. For those of you expecting a long speech by Sandy apologizing for his shortcomings, I apologize, but that's just not the way it worked out when I sat down to write this. Hopefully the brief snapshots of moments after the (second) Oliver debacle show that the ordeal has further strengthened the family's bond.**

**Taylor might seem a bit 'tossed in' at the last moment, but the story wasn't really about her so I didn't want their romance to be the focus of the epilogue. **

**Thanks for reading, it was a bit strange for me writing a multi part story but hopefully it all came together in the end. Like it? Hate it? Please let me know!**


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